Changes
by Robespierre-vs.-Napoleon
Summary: America thinks that England's little sister, Antarctica, is going to be as annoying and ugly as her brother, but she's quite the opposite. In fact, he falls head over heels for her, and she for him. The thing is, they know England won't approve, so they r


When England had announced that he was bringing his sister to the World Meeting, there were two things that had shocked the other countries. One, that England did not first insist on the usual ceremonies that he did on the rare occasion that a new country joined their ranks. And two, that he even had a sister. Not once had England mentioned her or thought to introduce her to the other countries.

Apparently, she was Antarctica. "But you can call her Juliet," England had laughed as he waggled his notoriously thick eyebrows. "She hates being called 'Antarctica.' She thinks it's annoyingly long."

"What is she like?" Russia had asked politely as he always did.

"She's a little cold and distant with some people, but she's a nice person," had come the reply. "That is, if you get to know her."

And America had scoffed, folding his arms across his chest like he very often did when England talked. England, a big brother? If his sister was anything like him, then he could pass on that. France, of course, would make his typical dirty jokes like he always did. But that was to be expected. England was not exactly the most flamboyantly handsome country, and America was sure that his sister would be no different. And if she was not...well, then he might have a few rounds with her just to piss off England. America felt confident that he could never like anybody that was related so closely to England.

How wrong he would turn out to be.

* * *

All of the countries were gathered in the large conference room for the World Meeting-all, that is, except for England.

"It's not like England to be late," sighed China, running a hand through his black hair. "I hope he makes it."

"He hasn't missed a Meeting since the Reformation," laughed Hungary. "He will not miss today."

"Perhaps he is getting 'is Snow Fleur ready for us," France teased. "She will be in for quite ze ride of 'er life, as ze Americans say."

America was about to put his two cents in when-speak of the devil-England walked in with the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen. He didn't have to turn around to know that every straight male's jaw dropped, excluding himself, who decided to silently praise her beauty. Wait, what was he doing? America shook his head. This couldn't possibly be...but it was. England's sister was the opposite of what he'd expected. She didn't look anything like her brother. She had long, curly brown hair and bright blue eyes. Her body would have made Venus herself weep in shame-her body had curves to die for, and her plump lips beckoned seductively, even though it was obvious that she wasn't trying to attract attention in the modest clothing England had probably forced her to wear. England's little sister was the kind of woman he would take home after one of his more involved trips to the bar-beautiful, and flat-out sexy, no matter how much he hated to think it.

"Hello, I'm Juliet Kirkland," the woman greeted politely. "It's wonderful to be able to finally be able to come to a Meeting. My brother has told me so much about you."

France slung am arm over her shoulder after he-and all of the other men in the room-had clamped his jaw and grinned. "I am France." His arm snuck a little too close to Juliet's chest, and she batted him away while England glared at France darkly. If looks could kill, France would most definitely be dead. "You are our dear England's little sister, non?"

"Vous n'allez pas être en mesure de tirer ça avec moi," she muttered. Then, louder, "Yes."

"But you look nothing like him," noted Russia calmly.

Juliet shrugged nonchalantly and smiled wryly, showing off a nice row of teeth. "So has been the observation of many people. I don't know why."

Not once during this whole exchange had America removed his eyes from Juliet. By God, she was so beautiful-no matter how much he hated to admit it. France had noticed his gawking and smirked, poking his comrade-Germany, in this case-in the ribs and winking. Germany knew that the situation would get out of hand quickly, so he banged his hands in the table loudly and yelled, "Let's get started!"

"Erm...right," England nodded, taking his seat at the head of the long table. Juliet took a seat in the new chair that sat right next to America, which only made France's knowing grin wider. "As you have been briefed, today we will talk about the oil crisis..."

* * *

After the meeting was (finally!) over, the male and female countries separated to socialize. Juliet had been dragged off by a laughing and ecstatic Hungary who was eager to get to know this strange newcomer, followed by an equally euphoric Belarus who kept saying something about marriage. The male countries stayed in the main conference room, sipping some hot chocolate and coffee. England stood off in the corner, staring out the window onto the horizon.

"So, you have taken a...liking...to Mademoiselle Antarctica, non?" France asked America, taking a casual sip from his hot chocolate mug.

"What? No!" America laughed, trying to shake it off.

"America, you never took your eyes off of her," China said. "We all saw it. Right?" All of the people in the room nodded in agreement.

America hardened his eyes. "She was just new. When you meet someone new, you look at them a lot."

"But not so much as you 'ave!" France replied. "Face it, mon ami-you are-how does one say it?-head over heels in love."

"I am _not_!" America cried indignantly, standing up quickly and slamming his mug down on the table, causing some of the coffee inside to slosh out. There was no mistake in the rising blush on his face. Whether it was from the indignation at the untruthfulness or if it was really true, that he did find Antarctica beautiful, was none of their business. But for the record, we will note that it is the latter. "I have only just met her!"

"Once is all it takes if it is the right one," Germany noted, flicking a fly off of his green jacket. "She is beautiful, and we all know it."

England heard their conversation and walked over. "What are you talking about?"

"Your sister," France chimed in, "and how beautiful America thinks that she is!"

"Y-you think my sister is beautiful?" England questioned, a funny look on his face as he tightened his grip on his cup.

"Well...erm...I mean," America stammered, trying to think of a way to say yes without actually saying yes. "She's not...ugly."

This, however, turned out to be incriminating evidence against him. "Ah!" France cried, grasping America's shoulder. "Our dear America is in love!"

"I told you, I am not in love with Antarctica!" America screamed in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air. "I only met her. While she may be a little pretty, that does not mean that I love her!"

"Um..." England coughed awkwardly, trying to end the already out-of-hand argument. "I am sure that America would not...er, lie about such things." Though it was obvious that he himself was lying. He'd seen how America had looked at his sister, and he knew that look. It was the kind of look that you gave to someone when you had taken more than a quick fancy to someone.

"Thank you! Someone who believes me!" America exclaimed, grateful that he had even one person on his side, even if that was England.

"Whatever you say," Poland said teasingly, winking. Christ, why did Poland insist on wearing that incredibly GAY shade of pink...not that there was anything wrong with the colour, of course...America himself used to fancy pink in his younger days.

"No, no!" France giggled childishly. Apparently, the romantic country had not given up. America was, to say the least, getting really pissed off. "America, you are totally in-"

He was cut off by a punch square to the jaw that sent him tumbling, delivered by America. Despite all appearances, America was much stronger than he looked-not that he didn't look strong enough already. "Anything else to say?" France shook his head, cupping his sore and bruised jaw.

And the Conference ended on this sour note.


End file.
